a thousand beautiful things

Being alone provides interesting challenges.

When I was married I never felt more alone. More lost. More at sea. More curled up on my side of the bed. More disregarded. More frozen from the inside out. There aren’t good words for that feeling yet. I remember it. But I can’t go there, not yet. Can’t write it. It’s enough to be done with it, and to know I never have to be there again, never accept it for years on end just to prove I could stay married.

I come home to an empty house one evening every week and every time I think about what it means to come home alone. To walk into a home where no demands are made on me. No one is hungry. No one needs help with long division or an art project. No one needs me to read to them. Oh, evidence of need is all around me. The morning mess of breakfast dishes. Rice Krispies slow dance in a bowl of water. The box of Ziploc bags on the counter. But no one is here, right now, asking for anything. How many times did I covet this as a young mother? Countless.

While I was going through the divorce, sitting in this apartment I had carefully composed from thin air, this place I was supposed to feel an escape from the pressure in, all I felt was panic. I can now identify it as such. A thick black hole of not knowing. I felt: who will love me now? Who will care for me? Who will fill this hole?

It wasn’t until after the divorce was final that I knew who needed to do those things: me. This is something we always know but some of us find a way to avoid accomplishing. I found so many ways. I never lived alone. I took care of my mother. I took care of my father.

I failed to protect and care for my brother. Failed to stop my mother from crying herself to sleep for years. Failed to fix my father, no matter how much compassion I had.

Maybe along the way I lost faith in my ability to do those things for me. I did those things for others to prove I could, to fix the past,  and denied that I needed anything.

Such a lot of effort to deny fear of failure and the work I needed to do.

The other day, after experiencing ridiculous success at something I didn’t know I could do, I laid down on my favorite rug. My son, who had been sick for two days, came in and laid down with me. He rested his head on my chest and I held him, like I always do. I said you know what? He said, what? I said, my life is really full and really amazing. He probably rolled his eyes.

Full of a thousand beautiful things I can give to myself every single minute of every single day.